Empty
by Kyou
Summary: A story about Draco's life, and the 'unpleasantness' inherent in it
1. Default Chapter

I suppose I should stick a disclaimer in here, even though hopefully everyone knows that I am not JK Rowlings, and I do not own the Harry Potter characters. If I did, the fifth book would be out by now.  
  
Just a warning, this fic will deal with some 'unpleasant' subjects, namely suicide and abuse.   
  
Reviews would be nice, but I won't hold my breath.  
  
  
EMPTY  
  
  
sou natsu no asa itsumo yoko ni wa daisuki na mama ga ite  
  
Draco smiled, lounging on a bench in the gazebo in the back lawn, watching his mother playing the harp. It was an old, old Muggle instrument that she played very rarely. When she did, however, it was beautiful, and always gave Draco a feeling of contentment that he held onto tightly. He was so rarely content, so rarely just happy, that he savoured the feelings wholeheartedly in the brief moments they came. He could forget, for a while, out in the gazebo with his mother. He could forget everything, his father, life itself. For a few hours, blessed, stolen hours, he could pretend that no-one existed in the world but him and Narcissa.   
He smiled, closing his eyes, letting the simple tune wash over him. Here, he was free, and he loved it, and he loved her.   
The melody drew to a close, and he heard his mother sigh. He opened his eyes. Narcissa was smiling sadly, gazing off into the distance. The harp was set down by her side.  
"What's wrong, Mother?" asked Draco, observing the sadness in her eyes and being saddened himself, in turn. "Aren't you going to play anymore?"  
Narcissa turned her gaze to him, and her eyes became even sadder, for an instant. Then she laughed a little, trying to dispel her son's concern. "Ah, Draco, it's nothing. I merely had the misfortune to allow myself to think for a moment of how I must reinforce the 'unbreakable' spell on the china this afternoon. Such tedious work..."  
Draco laughed as well, and patted her hand in sympathy, while both of them carefully did not think about the dinner party that evening which was the reason why the china had to be respelled. A dinner party which would be thrown by Lucius under Narcissa's name, and would include many of Voldemort's closest followers. A dinner party, which, afterwards....  
"Why don't you play something, Draco?" Narcissa gently lifted the harp and extended it toward Draco, who took it reverently.   
"What shall I play?"   
Narcissa smiled gently. "Anything you wish."  
Draco ran his fingers over the strings, and began to play. Almost unconsciously, he selected a song that Narcissa had played for him many times when he was a child. It was a sweet, unselfconscious tune that evoked warm memories of something lost in the sands of time, lost and never to be recovered except in these instances in the summer mornings in the gazebo with his mother.   
Narcissa began to sing along, accompanying Draco's playing in a clear, almost celestial voice. In that moment, Draco's earth became heaven. Heaven was certainly just this, locked in this one moment released in the music. He closed his eyes, and allowed his heart to soar.  
  
ne itsumo mitai ni watashi ni hohoemi kakete yo teri tsukeru asa ibitsuna hyoujou ukabete  
  
  
The moment ended.   
"Your father is home." said Narcissa, in a voice utterly devoid of emotion.  
"I'll hide this." Draco replied. He watched as Narcissa stood gracefully, and left the gazebo. He felt a searing aloneness in his whole being that struck as Narcissa faded into the distance. He thought of the dinner party, and wished despreately that he might stay here, in the gazebo, away from loneliness, sadness, anger, pain. His heart aching, he buried his head in his hands and did not cry. His heart aching, he stood and took the opposite path as Narcissa, heading for the spot in the woods that his father never went to, to hide the harp. His heart aching, he turned back and headed for the manor to face his life.  
  
He sat in his room, his evening clothes laid out on the bed, perfectly straight, so as not to get wrinkled. He had been told to 'keep out of the way' as the preparations for the evening went on. Which meant, essentially, he was banished to his room. The thought of going outside never even crossed his mind. The grounds out back were sacred, never to be entered except in the ritual mornings with his mother. The gazebo and forest had been so long a place for the two of them, that it was inconceivable to either one to go there alone. The ordered flower gardens, with their neat, straight pathways and examples of nature thoroughly subordinated by man did not enter into the holy grounds of Draco's and Narcissa's, but Draco would no more go there than he would go to the gazebo alone. The flower gardens were the domain of his father, and as such were abhorred. So he sat in his room, thinking of nothing, wishing time could just stop, wishing time would move faster so he could get on the train to Hogwarts and experience the freedom and bliss that came with nine months away from his father. Hogwarts wasn't exactly a paradise for him, but compared with his home, it was pretty damn wonderful. He didn't have many friends there... okay, any friends there, since Crabbe and Goyle didn't really count, but he didn't need them. Didn't really want them, in fact. Draco was an isolationist by nature, and created a hard, uncaring, arrogant shell to protect his wounded, scarred core. Truthfully, he was afraid to let anyone close for fear of what they might uncover. He kept his secrets, his family's secrets, and suffered in silence, enduring.   
Glancing up, Draco noticed the time. Sighing, he went to dress for the party.  
  
He held his head high as he walked down the staircase. He steeled himself mentally as he prepared to enter the formal dining room. Maybe if he did everything right, his father would be in a good mood afterwards and he could escape up to his room. Maybe, maybe. Draco built his future on maybes. Maybes, not hopes. Hopes were too fragile, too precious to be shattered one too many times. So he thought in terms of maybe, and endured to see another day.  
He took his seat next to his father, tried and failed to catch Narcissa's eyes on the other side. He didn't frown in concern, didn't let any expression other than slight congeniality on his face. He looked forward, and smiled at each of the guests as they were announced and shown in.  
After the initial pleasantries and small talk, the topic of discussion inevitably turned to Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, as he was known in the privileged circles with influence enough to be seen at Lucius Malfoy's dinner table. Draco listened idly, outwardly agreeing, inwardly thinking what a pathetic bunch of fools they were. Voldemort would not waste a spare thought on any of these beyond their usefulness in gaining him power; once their usefulness was outlived, he would kill them.   
Death held no fear for Draco, but he would prefer to die at the hands of something other than Voldemort. It would also be nice if he could live out his life without the constant shadow of Voldemort and his father hanging over his head.   
But that thought was perilously close to a hope, and so Draco crushed it. Smiling at some inane comment by the person sitting next to him - what was his name?-he replied lightly, easily, never letting anyone guess at the misery that haunted his inner self.  
The dinner progressed; they moved into the drawing room to be entertained; at midnight, people started to trickle away. By one, everyone had gone, leaving the Malfoy manor quiet and alone.   
  
Secluded, secure, no neighbors for miles. Beautiful, pristine, immaculate, the house sheltered the family that nothing could repair. In the silence of the night, Lucius dominated. Owning everything and yet owning nothing, he had given his life to Voldemort, and now sought power of his own. Power that did not belong to his Lord. For Lucius, everything revolved around power.  
There was no sound to break the stillness of the night. Draco understood the need for power of his father, and endured. Narcissa also understood the need, and stayed in her room, and wept silently. Broken beyond repair, she could not endure the suffering of her son as her son could endure suffering. She had rested her future on hope, and finding the hope shattered, she could not look forward. She would not look back. Locked in the present, she saw no escape. Knowing her son could endure, yet she could not.   
The silence was broken by one whisper, not heard by anyone but herself and the night.   
"I love you."  
  
shimetsuketa mama no kubisuji tenjou kara burasagaru nara baibai Mother  
  
  
Draco packed his trunk for Hogwarts, numb. The usual exaltation he felt at leaving for King's Cross on September first was gone. He felt nothing anymore, and still endured. Empty inside, he locked his trunk and headed downstairs.   
"Ready, Draco?" asked the head servant, Willis, who could call him by his first name by virtue of having been with the family since Draco's birth. Lucius, predictably, was nowhere to be seen.  
"Yes." Monotone. He couldn't care anymore.  
Willis peered concernedly at Draco. He couldn't say anything, but he thought it rather heartless of Lucius not to be there to send Draco off, especially after the horrible tragedy that had happened to them.  
"Well, let's go, then." Willis took the trunk and set off toward the expensive car that would take Draco to King's Cross. Draco followed despondently behind.  
"Have a good year, then." said Willis, trying to inject some cheerfulness into the somber atmosphere pervading the scene.  
"Yeah. See you." The same monotone, and Draco was off.  
  
  
Okay, that's it for now, because I don't feel like writing any more at the moment. It kind of leaves of at a midpoint, but whatever. The next chapter will explain things, and hopefully have more dialogue. I've just realized that this chapter is sadly dialogue-lacking. Ah well.   
If you noticed the Japanese lyrics scattered about, here's translations, for those that care.  
  
it's a summer morning my beloved mother always by my side  
hey smile at me like you always do the morning shines on your distorted expression  
tightened on mother's neck suspended from the ceiling bye-bye, Mother  
  
The song is 'embryo', by Dir en grey. It fits. 


	2. mugon no namida

Second chapter. Same disclaimer applies.  
  
  
  
mugon no namida kurushimi fukaku taekirezu ni hana wa chiru yuku watashi wa hitori  
  
  
Draco sat in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, alone. He had told Crabbe and Goyle he needed to be by himself, and for once they had understood and let him be. It might have been the perfect expressionlessness of his face, hinting of a deeper pain that outward emotion could not convey. Whatever it was, Draco was grateful for the space. He could not deal with other people at the moment. It was taking all of his strength, all of his reserves of endurance to just present a façade of normality. He could not let anyone see the depths of his bottomless grief, so deep and painful he teetered on the edge of sanity itself. It would soil her memory if he let anyone peer into his soul, poking and prodding and trying to 'make things better'. He would not be made better. She would not be brought back. And yet he would still go on.  
His composure was shattered a little as the door to the compartment opened. He quickly got control of himself again, and focused on who was invading his solitary mourning.  
Exactly who he did not need to see at the moment.   
"Malfoy." sneered Ron. "Where are your little cronies? Have they abandoned you?"  
Draco felt himself begin to crack.   
"Please leave, now." he replied softly, gently.  
'Oh? And how are you going to make us, without your henchmen to do the dirty--" he was interrupted as Draco smoothly got up and shut the compartment door again. He stood there, leaning against it, head on arm, until he heard receding footsteps, one set more reluctant than the other. He never thought he'd be grateful to Harry Potter before.   
And he slid down until he was crumpled on the floor, and did not cry.  
  
Walking through the Hogwarts corridors, barely noticing the crowds of people surging around him, pushing, shoving, shouting, happy to be back, he held his head high in the Malfoy tradition and tried not to come in contact with any of them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to politely brush the person off.  
"Will you come to my office, please, Draco?" asked Dumbledore, concern and pity showing in his eyes. Draco knew why, and did not wish to go, did not want to face it.   
Mutely he nodded, and followed the headmaster.  
  
"I have heard about what happened over summer, and I am deeply sorry for your loss." Dumbledore watched Draco with compassion in his expression. "It was a heart attack, I heard from your father?" He phrased it as a question, almost as if he did not trust Lucius's account.  
"Yes, it was a heart attack." Draco confirmed, letting nothing show in his eyes, as the memory rose against his will. His mother, his dear, sweet mother, his only source of comfort and love in his life. His only salvation, strung from the ceiling in her room with a scarf, a beautiful scarf that Lucius had given her. His beautiful mother, not remotely beautiful anymore, with her eyes bulging from their sockets, swollen tongue, discoloured face. His father, coldly cutting her down, stating that she died from natural causes. A heart attack seemed appropriate, considering her frail constitution.  
Dumbledore paused a moment, studying Draco's expressionless face.   
"Draco... if you wish to talk about anything, anything at all, you can come to me at anytime. I hope you know this. Anything you say will of course be kept private unless you wish it otherwise..."  
Draco nodded civilly. "Thank you, Headmaster. I will remember this."  
Dumbledore hesitated a moment longer, then sighed. "Please do. I am really not an ogre. In the meantime, if you start feeling depressed, Madame Pomfrey always has a supply of chocolate on hand."  
"Thank you, sir. May I go?"  
"You may go."  
Draco stood, and left the office.  
  
"Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry to hear about your mother!" exclaimed Pansy the moment Draco sat down at the Slytherin table. This set off a round of condolences through the length of the table, each one more empty than the next. Of course no-one really cared; however, it would be in bad form not to at least pretend. And so Draco acknowledged them, knowing they weren't meant, knowing he didn't care, only going through the motions so dear to the well-bred. For if he left off the motions, what would be left of him? He was merely a wind-up toy as it was, stripped of emotion in one instant as he saw his mother dead. If he stopped performing what was expected of him, he might merely cease to exist. He would be a cast-off shell, a shell of a human being. An empty shell.   
  
**  
  
"Did you hear about Malfoy's mother?"   
"What? She /died/?"  
"Heart attack, I heard."  
"Heart attack? What, did her husband catch her without makeup on or something?"  
"I bet it wasn't a heart attack. I bet it had something to do with.... "  
"Don't say it! You know all that stuff last year wasn't really for real.... You-Know-Who can't /really/ be coming back, Dumbledore would crush him!"  
"...Yeah...."  
The news spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, the death of the wife of someone with as much influence and power as Lucius Malfoy being a hot subject of gossip and rumour, suspicions and theories, fear and debate. For, after all, there hadn't been any warning. People remembered the year Cedric had died, remembered that Lucius most likely had connections with Voldemort, and slept a little bit more uneasily in their beds thinking of death, destruction, terror. No matter how much they reassured themselves, Voldemort had planted that little seed of doubt with the death of Cedric Diggory.  
Draco heeded none of this. It being his mother that had died, and he and his father alone who knew the true nature of her death, he ignored the rumours and concentrated on winding his spring every day so he could make it through. Occasionally the soul-crushing grief that his mind had locked away in self-defense threatened to surface again, and it took all his self-control to squash it and save his sanity. Imagining himself as a wind-up toy seemed the best defense, and so he went through his days mechanically, not thinking, not feeling, not hoping.  
And he made it through.  
  
  
saa watashi wo okashite ki ga sumu made papa no mono yo  
  
  
Christmas Break came.   
And with the coming of Christmas vacation came the breaking of Draco's soul.  
  
Draco stared vacantly down at the sheet of parchment held in his hand, not seeing the words written on it anymore, lost in his own memories.  
"Draco? Is anything wrong?" Pansy again, seeming little concerned.  
"Oh, no. Just wool-gathering for a moment there.... I'll be going home for Christmas."  
"Oh, good. It would be awfully depressing to stay here, what with everyone else leaving."  
Draco nodded, forcing a smile, telling himself not to dwell on the future.   
Not to dwell on the future.... at home, with his father, without his mother to keep him sane, to keep him from ever feeling the absolute worst. With his mother there, he always had that one ray of happiness, no matter how slim or how few his chances to be with her alone were. He always had something to live for.   
But now.  
  
He couldn't dwell on it. He had to be strong, had to endure for the sake of his mother watching him from above (above, in the sky, not above, strung from the ceiling). He had to endure. He didn't want Narcissa to be disappointed in him.   
  
"You're sure you'll be alright, Draco? You're welcome to stay here, you know."   
Draco had been summoned to the headmaster's office for a second time.  
"I'll be fine, sir. Please don't worry about me."  
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Okay. But remember, you'll always have a home here at Hogwarts."  
"I'm sure I will. Thank you, sir." Ever polite.  
"....Alright, then. You may go. I wouldn't wish you to miss the train..."  
"Thank you, sir. I'll see you next term."   
  
**  
  
Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express, not ready, but willing to face Christmas vacation at home.  
  
  
Yay, the second chapter. Took me long enough, but yeah, with school, work, Christmas shopping, I haven't been writing much. Maybe the third chapter won't take so long, but then again, maybe it will. 


	3. watashitachi mioroshiteru

hora ue kara mama ga watashi-tachi mioroshiteru  
  
  
Staring out the window, watching the countryside fly by at an alarmingly fast speed (in his own mind), Draco did his best not to think about the coming winter vacation. Two weeks at home, without his mother (but he wasn't going to think about that, either, not now), would be hell. Possibly hell would be better than his home during this frigid Christmastime.   
The landscape passing by the window was stark and white. The bleakness of the scenery seemed to reflect a perfect mirror of Draco, wind-up doll, except for one fatal flaw. The scenery was incapable of contemplating the future. This cognitive function was currently serving to shatter Draco's carefully preserved doll image. Draco, person, was dreading the future with an intensity that would have driven any other person mad. For the future contained, inevitably, his father.   
But not his mother anymore, oh, no. For of course the good in the future was not as inevitable as the bad. Of course.   
Draco shook his head slightly to clear it. Long-forgotten Latin rose to his mind: /tabla rasa/, blank slate. If only he could wipe away his memories, wipe away his past, wipe away his very existence, become the very essence of the blank slate. Like the snow flashing before him, clean, new, empty.   
  
The train pulled into the station.  
  
Draco debated just not getting off, just sitting in his seat and going wherever the train went next. Yet even as he considered the idea, he knew it was a futile thought. Appearances must be kept, after all. He was a Malfoy, and his father would track him down. Embarassment did not sit well with Lucius. Narcissa's death had enraged him, a quiet rage that had been vented on the nearest available target. No matter that the manner of death had been covered up quickly and efficiently, it was still an embarassment in his own mind. To have the perfect wife kill herself! it was simply an outrage. If the truth ever surfaced, Lucius knew he could cover it up, but it would have to involve admitting that his perfect wife might not have been so perfect after all. And that was almost akin to admitting a failure, which any Malfoy would never do unless in a hopeless situation. They were taught from birth to always be right.   
So Draco walked off the train to meet his father, and knew he had made the right choice, for he was a Malfoy, and it was inconceivable that he would make the wrong decision, even if he knew in his heart that the abuses he suffered at home were not right, that the choices Lucius made concerning his son might not be right, despite his being a Malfoy.  
It all came down to power.  
  
hohoende kokoro ga ne harisakete waratteru  
  
  
"Power, Draco." said Lucius softly. "I have it. You don't."  
"I know, Father." replied Draco.  
"Do you?" Lucius took Draco's face in his hand, tilting it up to stare in his eyes almost tenderly. "Do you really?"  
Draco closed his eyes, knowing what came next.  
  
Through it all, he thought of his mother, thought of the gazebo, of the songs they would sing together. He ignored the pain the best he could, ignored his father's voice trying to insinuate itself into his consciousness.  
Concentrating hard on his mother, he ceased to be attentive to the agony wracking his body. His father, sensing this, redoubled his efforts. Draco, for the first time in years, fell into blessed unconsciousness.  
  
When he awoke, the first thing Draco was aware of was pain. He felt as though he would rip apart at the slightest movement. Lying still, he waited for the first wave to pass, then sat up. Sitting up was about the worst thing he could have done. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and he very nearly passed out again. But he was a Malfoy. Clinging to this tenuous train of thought, he made his way down the hall, enduring the agony flaring up at every step, finally coming to rest in Narcissa's room. It had been stripped of all its furniture and decoration, and was now a mere box with wood flooring and faded wallpaper. Draco didn't care. He sat down in the center of the room, seeming to see his mother all around him, as she was when alive, as she was when dead. Unable to think coherently, Draco took hold of a memory of happier times, grasping it tightly as though a lifeline. Empty without her, he took solace in times past.  
After a while, as the pain subsided, he began to sing softly the last song they had ever sung together.   
  
He knew what he would do next.  
  
  
  
Okay, sorry this chapter's so short, but I figured I should get something out before everyone forgets about this thing. I just don't have the time to write as much as I'd like. With Christmas break coming, the next bits should come faster. 


End file.
